


EFBO (Enterprise Festive Bake-Off)

by neversaydie



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Baking, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Compliant to Either Star Trek TOS or AOS, Drinking, Fluff, Glasgow Fanfic Open Mic Night secret santa, Inspired by The Great British Bake Off, M/M, Silly, Vulcan Kisses, captain not in front of the crew, casual mutiny as you do, how does one festive in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27960602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: For the first time in his life, Jim was beginning to wish he'd just shut the hell up and listened to Bones McCoy.(Well, not the first time, strictly speaking. But the first time he's willing to admit to.)"It'll be a goddamn disaster! Culture clashes, allergies, not to mention the inevitable injuries. I'm not going to take you packing med bay with burn victims and idiots with chopped-off fingertips lying down!"But shore leave had been cancelled at short notice, the crew were getting stressed and snappy with each other as a result, and they'd reached about the right spot on the Earthen calendar, so… Winter Holiday Bake-off it is. It's going as well as you might expect.[the Enterprise crew do a bake-off, Bones is grumpy, Spock and Kirk are Soft(tm), and festive chaos reigns]
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk & Spock
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	EFBO (Enterprise Festive Bake-Off)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Secret Santa fic for Rebecca! Hello! I hope you enjoy this slice of festive baking silliness! 
> 
> This is compliant to either TOS or AOS verse, featuring grumpy Bones, sweet Spirk, and everyone else being chaotic messes as per. 
> 
> I'm also Scottish in case you couldn't tell by Scotty's appearance. Let the man have his whisky.

For the first time in his life, Jim was beginning to wish he'd just shut the hell up and listened to Bones McCoy. 

(Well, not the  _ first _ time, strictly speaking. But the first time he's willing to admit to.)

_ "It'll be a goddamn disaster! Culture clashes, allergies, not to mention the inevitable injuries. I'm not going to take you packing med bay with burn victims and idiots with chopped-off fingertips lying down!" _

But shore leave had been cancelled at short notice, the crew were getting stressed and snappy with each other as a result, and they'd reached about the right spot on the Earthen calendar, so… Winter Holiday Bake-off it is. 

Most Terrans were familiar with a version of Solstice or Christmas or other cultural end of year festival, while crew members from across the Federation had their own customs related to planetary seasons. It took some wrangling and a late night session ironing things out with Uhura (which left Jim's head once again spinning at the speed with which her mind works), but they managed to figure out a set of rules which facilitated as many participants as possible while hopefully not treading on too many cultural boundaries. 

The news that using chocolate was banned as Mr Spock was going to be on the judging panel and refused to be intoxicated into a decision caused a minor mutiny... but at this point in the year it wasn't really Tuesday without a threat to the established order or two. The CSO wouldn't be swayed on the fact that baking was science and therefore he was the most qualified to judge their efforts, anyway, and Jim learned not to argue with that tone  _ long  _ before their relationship became registered through official channels.

Besides, he's sampled Spock's baking both in the privacy of their quarters and dirtside, and he's  _ not _ going to attempt to score it in public. There's a difference between bravery and stupidity, especially when it comes to inedible Vulcan scones, and he'd much rather have his other half judging than be judged. 

So that's how they've found themselves posted up in a corner of the mess for the day, at a judges table grandly decorated with some of Sulu's donated greenery and a few party-hat wearing tribbles Uhura _promises_ aren't able to multiply at will. Jim was sceptical, after last time the little beasts overran the ship right under his nose, but he's been surreptitiously feeding the nearest one leftovers for the past hour and it hasn't reproduced yet, so he's now cautiously optimistic about at least that aspect of the event. 

Pretty much  _ only _ that aspect of the event, actually, now he's sampled some of what his crew grandly refer to as baking. He can see Spock developing an eye twitch from here, as he realises all his research about the precise nature of leavening agents has been in vain. 

"Mr Chekov is this filling… entirely alcohol?" 

"It's a vodka-based sauce, sir, as invented by a little old lady in-"

"Leningrad, of course. How could I have been so ignorant?" Jim catches a glimpse of Spock furiously taking notes he can only half-decipher and downs the rest of the eye-wateringly strong cupcake anyway. He's going to need it once they start revealing scores and really have a riot on their hands, especially if Chekov has been passing around his main 'ingredient' for the demob-happy crew to share. "Thank you for your efforts. Next?"

It's a surprisingly delightful thing to judge, in some ways, aside from trying to choke down inedible baked goods and appear as neutral as possible to prevent interpersonal conflict. Well, inflaming interpersonal conflict, anyway - the maintenance department have definitely been having some internal arguments if the variety of similar-yet-slightly-different cookies they present is anything to go by, glowering at each other and making pointed comments about their own _perfected_ version of the recipe all the while. And the less said about navigation's relentless attempts at sabotaging each other's creations via ingredient swap-out or minor explosion the better. 

Anyway,  _ aside _ from all that, it's actually a lovely opportunity to get to know the customs of his crew a little better. From Alonis sweet buns filled with herbs that leave him spluttering to Yridian candies that tint his vision blue for a good fifteen minutes after consuming, Jim's quite pleased with himself for coming up with such a cultural exchange. Especially when a familiar, extremely grumpy face finally shows up at the very,  _ very  _ end of medical's presentation slot (although Nurse Chapel's peanut butter and jelly cookies have probably won already, at this point. Jim had to force himself to stop after three). 

Ah sweet, sweet vindication. It's a hell of a drug. 

"Why Bones, I thought you were entirely against this festive little shindig?"

"Don't sound so smug. I'm only here to show the kids what flavour is," he places the small dishes down with surprising care, scowling hard at Jim's raised eyebrow of amusement. "Now you know I couldn't get a decent Georgia peach through a damn replicator, but my cobbler's still going to knock anything else on this table out the park."

"And what makes it related to a holiday tradition?" Spock queries, in what probably only Jim and McCoy know to be his haughtiest tone. He's taking this competition as expected… which is to say, entirely too seriously. Jim sort of hates how attractive he finds that. 

"Rum."

"Rum?"

"Rum." 

"Rum," Jim repeats with a nod, deciding not to comment. If his crew want to get one-half of the judges drunk in an effort to win, that's fine by him. It's his day off and he's been feeling the stress lately too. "Thanks doctor, we'll let you know." 

"You just remember who gave you the allergy shots so you could judge this shitshow without breaking out in hives," Bones stomps off with a final glare, but it's one of his more affectionate ones so Jim's confident he's still in his friend's good books. As long as he gives his entry a decent score, that is. 

He marks the ballot so he'll remember. He's not getting tipsy from _cake_ , despite Spock's questioning glance, there's just a lot to judge. 

Things do get a little hazy around the time engineering's final slot to present their entries rolls around, because dammit Scotty that's a  _ lot  _ of whisky he's shared with his staff, where the fuck is he even  _ keeping  _ that much? Jim likes to think he knows where most of the major clandestine intoxicant stashes on the Enterprise are, but clearly he's been keeping less of a close eye since they last stopped at a port. He's also not entirely sure that miniature Christmas fruit puddings soaked in brandy and presented with a shot of whisky even count as a single dessert? 

But, well, wouldn't want to disrespect Scottish cultural customs after all.

"Captain. Not in front of the crew," Spock's voice is both disapproving and tinged with humour when he leans over, once the last entries have been submitted and the crew have given them some space to deliberate. Jim is confused for a second before he realises he's stroking his partner's fingers absentmindedly, and pulls his hand back with heat spreading across his cheeks. Right. Social decorum. Yes. 

The mess is pretty much jam-packed with anyone not on shift by now, sharing drinks and baked goods and arguing with boisterous good humour (and some boisterous not-so-good humour) about who's going to be crowned Head Baker of the Enterprise. Sulu's carefully-selected tree decorations twinkle in the corners of the room to add to the atmosphere, while someone was clearly prepared and has passed around cheap party hats and accessories which add their own tacky, joyful layer to proceedings. Jim's even fairly sure he catches sight of McCoy wearing a pink paper crown in the hubbub, but that might just be the alcohol talking. 

Perhaps he did get tipsy on boozy cakes after all. He's getting old. 

"Any final thoughts?" Spock asks, when he's tallied up their respective scores solo after clearly realising Jim is a little too full of food and drink for calculations. Jim would usually make a fuss about that interfering with the fairness of the procedure but… he's pretty definitively taken off his captain's hat for the night already. 

"Chapel obviously won, but I might be biased because I haven't had PB&J in years," he tips his head sideways and grins when that inspires the barest snort of laughter from his fellow judge, who's watching him with a look nobody else would interpret as naked affection but Jim can read clear as Iowa sky. "We should probably wait until everyone's preoccupied with their hangovers tomorrow to announce a winner."

"It would prevent outright mutiny."

"Well, if we can prevent  _ outright  _ mutiny until shore leave I think we've done our jobs," Jim smothers a yawn and leans his head on Spock's solid shoulder, no longer giving much of a fuck about social decorum. Not when their helmsman is currently trying to swordfight half the maintenance crew atop a table, and he can count a swathe of Being Resources fraternisation violations taking place in shadowy corners at a glance. From the arm that wraps around his shoulders and fingers that tangle freely with his, he can tell his partner has stopped caring too. "Happy holidays, Mr Spock."

"Happy holidays, Jim," Spock sounds amused, and squeezes the captain's hand before dropping the contest's final twist. "I'll make you some traditional Vulcan pastries next time we acquire the appropriate ingredients. A cultural exchange should be as comprehensive as possible, after all."

Images of charred flaxen scones and half-melted summer syllabubs flash behind Jim's eyes as he swallows the urge to cringe. What kind of husband would he be if he couldn't make himself appreciate some… creative cooking? As the old Terran saying goes, it's the thought that counts.

"Can't wait," he cranes up to smack a brief kiss to Spock's cheek, opening his eyes just enough to enjoy his partner's deep olive flush before settling back to a lazy doze. He's off duty now the judging is done, and he fully intends to enjoy it. 

(There's only a  _ minor  _ mutiny when Nurse Chapel is announced as bake-off winner the following morning. Jim calls that a resounding success and decides they're making it an annual tradition. 

McCoy despairs, though that's a tradition all year round.)


End file.
